gn! reader — 2.6k words — hurt/comfort — non-sexual nudity — fluff — slight angst — descriptions of wounds —this is mainly for andrew garfield's peter parker, but i left it ambiguous. requests are open and welcome.
He hadn't come to me like this in so long that I had almost forgot why I worry so much about him, but seeing Peter in the state he was in now reminded me all too quickly. He was very clearly beaten, and knocking on my window as he rested his head on the glass. I tossed the book I had been reading and scrambled out of my bed to unlock the glass pane. "Peter," I was shocked, and the gasp in my voice almost made it too difficult to speak over the sound of him stumbling into my room. "what the hell happened?" I led him onto a chair that he slammed himself onto with a groan.
"You should see the other guy." He answered with hardly any breath left in his lungs to speak. He was winded, gasping for air like a fish that had been cruelly pulled out of it's tank. I took a look along his body, deciding on what to do. A claw mark along his chest, deep enough to kill any normal person, but the blood already stopped and dried and cracking on his own skin. His suit was in ruins, certainly unsalvageable and his mask torn apart on the floor. Half healed bruises and scrapes littered his torso and face, most likely his legs too if they were visible.
"Anything broken?" I asked, wrapping my arms under his and making him lean on me as we headed for my bathroom.
"Couple ribs." He winced in pain with each limp, but continued on nonetheless with my help. As we made it to the bathroom I helped him lay in the tub, careful of the wounds on his back and ribs.
"Sounds like Spider-man's getting a vacation for a few days." He whined in protest but the sharp look I gave him shut him up faster than the pain in his chest could. I grabbed some scissors, wash cloths, tweezers and rubbing alcohol, sitting them all on the counter. "I'll be back, don't move." I said gently and left to go grab some water bottles from the pantry.
I shouldn't have to know how to do this, but my boyfriend happened to be a superhero, and I didn't want to be useless when he was hurt. Walking back into the bathroom I grabbed the scissors and cut the entirety of his suit off of his body. "I'll help you make a new one." I said passively in response to his huff of annoyance. He knew it was ruined, I'm sure he was just upset at my lack of hesitation in destroying something I knew he worked hard on. I didn't care, though. I needed to help him and I didn't want him to be in any more pain if I could prevent it, so cutting and peeling the blood-soaked and sweaty suit off of his body was the way to go. He was left in just his boxers, looking bashful for some reason even though I've seen him in less. "You okay?" I grabbed one of the water bottles and poked holes into the top.
"I'm.... Not." He spoke quietly, and I washed my hands before kneeling myself at the edge of the tub and squeezing the water bottle directly onto his back.
"Wanna talk about it?" Dirt and dried blood mixed together in their trek down his skin as the small streams of water sprayed smoothly while I squeezed the bottle. As the bottle got half empty I set it down on the side of the tub and grabbed one of the cloths, wetting it a bit before gently dabbing the rag on his wounds. He stayed silent aside from a few winces, and I continued my job with the tweezers, pulling out dirt and debris from the cuts. The conversation stayed there for a while. Stagnant, on the precipice of a breakthrough yet neither of us making any attempt to move forward with it.
His back was now simply his skin, the bruises, and very distinct gashes. The lines were clean and sharp, as opposed to the muddled and indistinct mess they were before. It was bittersweet, seeing his body clean but not clear of the crimes committed against it. I brushed the thoughts aside and began doing the same thing to his chest with the rest of the water. "I'm sorry." He blurted out.
"It's okay, baby." I shushed him, turning to poke holes in another water bottle and wash the tweezers with alcohol before I pulled things out of his chest. "You don't have to be sorry. Not for this." I brought the replenished supplies back down with me and pulled another washcloth from the pile. It wasn't my place to be angry at him. He didn't choose to be hurt like this, he didn't choose to be the one to have to save people, he didn't choose to be constantly traumatized in the name of heroism. There was nothing in this world that would ever give me the right to be mad at him for doing the right thing. I continued cleaning his chest, trying to suppress the pain in my heart upon seeing his face. "Can you slide your boxers off for me?" He obliged and Began the process on his legs, which thankfully weren't as damaged as the rest of his body.
When I was done, I cleared the area, putting everything but the first aid kit back and pulled out some towels. "What are you doing?" Peter asked, and I only smiled sweetly at him, heading to my room to pull out a pair of his briefs and sweatpants and coming back soon after.
"I need to clean and disinfect your wounds, your hair is caked with sweat, and you stink. I'm giving you a bath." I couldn't help my smile as I spoke the last part. Pete mumbled a quiet 'oh' and I grabbed the disinfecting soap, my shampoo and another washcloth. His face still needed to be cleaned as well, so I took my pants off, grabbed the shower head, and sat on the side of the tub, putting my right leg behind his back and my left leg stretched out of the way of his. Luckily my tub— and frankly whole bathroom— was big enough for the both of us despite my apartment's arguably mediocre size. I turned the water on and let it run through my hands, adjusting the temperature so that it wasn't hot and wasn't cold; just warm enough to feel like the water I had been using for his body. "Lay your head back." I ordered gently and he obliged, leaning his neck on my thigh and closing his eyes.
I ran the water through his hair, combing through it with my fingers to ensure all of the grime was being removed and partly just because I wanted to soothe him. When I decided his hair was wet enough, I put the shower head down and put some shampoo on my hands, lathering it into his scalp. My movements were soft, god only knows how bad his head is probably hurting and I didn't want to make that any worse. We stayed like that for a while, not because I needed to lather the shampoo any more than it already was, but because I knew he needed it. The entire bath was mainly just for his comfort, I didn't have to, and I could have cleaned his wounds and washed his hair without being so touchy about it– but I wasn't going to let him go without the comfort he so desperately needed after whatever horror he faced in the real world.
I rinsed his hair out, being just as slow with it as I was when I was when massaging the shampoo in. When that was finished, I put the disinfecting soap directly on my hands, touching my palms softly onto his already closed up wounds. I rubbed across his chest and arms, applying just enough pressure to make sure they were being cleaned but not enough to hurt him. When I was done, I grabbed the shower head again and rinsed the suds off, sliding my hand around the area to make sure the soap was properly washed away. "Lean forward, honey." My voice was a faint whisper, but I knew he heard me as he followed suit and I repeated the whole process with his back, face and legs afterwards. When I was done washing him, I left the tub and dried my legs off, putting my pants on and handing him the washcloth I grabbed earlier. "Pits balls and ass, not gonna be doing that part for you. Body wash is right there." I pointed to the bottle and he smiled, standing up to finish up his 'bath'. While he was doing that, I grabbed the bloodied rags and put them in the trash bin, cleaning up the counter and moving the first aid kit onto my kitchen island, pulling two of the bar stools out.
Peter came out of the bathroom, limping slightly as he headed towards me. His hair was still wet. "Hurts to lift my shoulders." He said, voice full of shame.
"It's alright. I'll dry you off." He handed me the towel he was holding and I led him to the living room, sitting him on the floor between my legs as I sat on the couch. I took the towel and started drying his hair off, being careful not to put too much pressure on his head like when I was washing it. "After I dress your wounds, we can relax tonight and watch movies and play some games," I spoke sweetly to him, feeling the way he started leaning his head into my hands while I talked. "and then tomorrow we can go pick up some of your clothes and then get the stuff we need for your suit. We can do it separately so it's not suspicious." He sighed.
"Can we not talk about Spider-man tonight?" He sounded beyond destroyed. This was the first time I had heard such raw emotion from Peter. He had never sounded more angry and sad and hopeless before. It was a shock, but I recovered fast enough for it not to be noticeable. "I just want to be Peter...." He said. "just for a while." With each word he got quieter, almost as if he was afraid of my reaction.
"Peter, look at me." He looked up at me, the now-damp towel sliding onto my lap. "Peter can never be taken away from you, okay? You'll always just be Peter to me. If not to the rest of New York, you'll always be Peter to me." I could see tears building up like a dam in his eyes, falling just as quickly. "I love Peter Parker. I fell in love with you, not the guy in a suit. I love that guy because he's you. Not because you're him, do you understand me?" A sob escaped his mouth as he looked away from me, so I moved to sit in front of him. My hands made their way to his face and I made him look at me.
"I just want to be human to people," His words crushed me. How dare I forget that putting people on pedestals is still dehumanizing them. I brushed his tears away and kissed his forehead. "It's so hard to act like I don't get hurt." The cries that tore through Peter's throat enraged me. I wanted nothing more than to just scream and yell at the world for trying to kill him, I wanted to brutalize the evils he had to face every day. I wanted to take his hurt and feel it for him. I wanted to take his battles and fight them for him. I wanted to take his heart and heal it for him.
"I'm who you can be human with. You don't have to pretend anymore, Pete. Crying doesn't mean you're not strong." He gripped onto me like he'd die if he didn't. He held me so close to him I could feel the ache in his chest as if it were my own. I held him back, cautious of his scrapes and bruises. We sat like that for a while until his crying stopped, and as he pulled away I wiped his tears one last time. "I'm always here for you, you know that?" He stared at me for a bit, studying me almost.
"God, I love you." He sounded so amazed as he said that, his hand resting against my neck and pulling me in for a kiss. I smiled against his lips and pulled away.
"We can make out after I patch you up." Pete smiled and got up with me, sitting still at the bar as I opened the first aid kit. I started small, putting band aids on each tiny cut that showed itself to me, not bothering with the Neosporin on the smaller stuff. Getting to the large gashes on his chest, that's when I whipped out the big guns. Large pads of gauze, gauze wrap, antibiotic cream, all that good stuff. "What did this to you?" I asked as I started to spread the cream on his opened skin.
"A giant lizard." Pete answered nonchalantly. My brows furrowed in confusion, but I shrugged it off, focusing on securing the gauze wrap. I knew he didn't want to talk about Spider-man, so I wasn't going to press any further. "No, I didn't get him," He answered me, as if he could read my mind. "but I destroyed all of the stuff that makes him scaly, so we've got a few days before I have to fight him again." I nodded, still trying to orchestrate the gauze wrap in the right way so he'd be comfortable with it wrapped around him.
When I was done, I leaned back and checked my work. He looked a lot better than how he stumbled in. "Well, what do you want to do now?" I held my hands in his as we sat across from each other.
"I think I just want to lay down with you." Pete answered, and I saw the fatigue hitting his face. Going through a fight and the dam of your own stress breaking you would be enough to knock anyone on their ass. I smiled at him and led him to my room, dimming the lights and crawling into bed with him. Usually, I'd be the one laying on top of him, but given the circumstances, I took the liberty to guide him onto my chest. He laid there contently, wrapping his arms around my waist.
Obviously the issue wasn't fixed. Of course it would take a while for Peter to feel better, but in those few moments where it was just us and the soft whisper of music I had playing before he came over, everything felt okay again. It felt like he found solace in me. It felt like he truly felt safe and sound in my arms. It felt like love and I absolutely adored the closeness. I closed my eyes and relished in the calm that washed over my body. The type of calm that only comforted me when Peter was near. It made me tired, and I could feel from Pete's breathing that he was already asleep, so I just let my consciousness slip. We were okay. No matter what, no matter what happened, we were okay as long as we had each other.
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